


A Shower Mishap

by pinkoptics



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Charles You Slut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Shower Sex, or at least shower adjacent sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-09
Packaged: 2018-09-23 00:23:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9631466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkoptics/pseuds/pinkoptics
Summary: Charles has a problem with his shower.Thank goodness Erik is around to help.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FuryRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FuryRed/gifts).



> This fic was my way to get over my fear of writing smut.
> 
> FuryRed inadvertantly inspired it and then constantly cheered me on as I wrote it. So you may thank(blame) her. This one's for you brain twin.
> 
> My first PWP. However, given how much fun it was to write (way too much fun), it's unlikely to be my last.
> 
> Enjoy!

Charles has one thought and one thought alone.

Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He stares at the shower head in his hands and glares at it as though it has mortally betrayed him. This is not where the shower head is supposed to be. It's supposed to be attached to the pipe jutting out of the wall and gushing tepid water all over him.

After a few frozen moments of indecision, Charles' mind goes into panicked overdrive. He fumbles with the shower head, attempting to re-attach it, but only succeeds in causing the water to spray an even greater distance across his bathroom than it is already.

Fuck.

You complete and utter idiot.

Water first.

Charles' free hand flys to the knob and twists it violently to the off position. The water, making a mockery of his frantic efforts, continues to pour over him in torrents. This just won't do. The tub beneath his feet is filling rapidly, the water coming in faster and harder than it can drain. Very soon it will be spilling over the side and onto his bathroom floor.

A flood. Water seeping into the Robertson's flat below. Damage. Insurance bills.

FUCK.

He could call a plumber, but by the time he's able to google one, contact them and have them haul arse to his building it will be too late. The damage will have been done and Charles will be well and truly fucked. He could call his Super, but the man is completely fucking useless at the best of times. This is assuming he's even home, which he probably isn't, because Charles knows he likes to head down to the local pub for a pint and Monday Night Football. Bloody American football.

Then, an idea jolts him like a bolt of lightning.

_Erik! I need you. I need you right the hell now._

The response Charles gets is not even verbal, it's a mess of confused, flustered and startled emotions at the sudden intrusion. Charles projects an image of his current situation into Erik's mind. He laces it with every bit of urgency he's currently feeling. Immediately, Erik's confusion disappears and his mind falls into its usual disciplined order. Charles would have taken a moment to be impressed at how quickly Erik is able to regulate his emotions, but all he can manage at the moment is continued panic.

_I know you're not a plumber but-_

  
_I'll be right there_ , Erik thinks. The words are sure, confident, as though Erik has no qualms about whether or not he will be able to deal with the situation. Oh thank god.

 _Just let yourself in_ , Charles sends before severing the connection.

Erik is only three flats over from him, so the cavalry should be there very shortly. Of course, because this is apparently how the universe has decided to treat him today, this is the moment his tub starts to overflow. Charles manages to exit the tub without slipping and breaking his neck, which is a not so small mercy, all things considered. He speeds to his linen closet and divests it of every towel and other absorbent material he can get his hands on. Back in the bathroom, he lets them all drop in a heap on the floor to absorb what they can. It's probably not a good idea, it's probably not even a half-decent idea, but his panicked mind can't seem to come up with anything else. He needs Erik now.

Pop.

The sound is innocuous enough, but there is nothing innocuous about the result. The water is no longer simply gushing down into and around the tub, but spraying everywhere in a rather spectacular fashion.

Fuck.

His vocabulary, it appears, has been reduced to one word and one word alone. He is so preoccupied by the travesty unfolding in front of him that he doesn't hear, or even sense, Erik's approach until the man is pushing past him into the bathroom, half-skidding on the sopping wet towels strewn all over the floor. Erik manages to catch himself and his attention immediately fastens on the problem before him.

Charles is amazed at his focus, given that the water is spraying ruthlessly into his face. The temperature of the deluge has gone from lukewarm to cold to freezing. His hot water tank having long given out in the face of the volume of water pouring in. Charles spends one hysterical moment wondering what he did to anger Poseidon.

None of this phases Erik. Charles has no idea what he's doing, but he can feel Erik's extraordinary concentration. It's sharp and honed, as though nothing exists around him except for the metal piping in the walls. The order of his mind is a thing of incredible beauty and it helps to slow Charles' heart and reduce the frenzied state of his mind. The most amazing part of all is that this is only the surface. Charles never dares to go further than that with anyone, most especially with someone who he only met a month ago, but this is not the first time he has thought about how much he'd love to sink into the depths of that mind.

As quickly as the bathroom tsunami had started, it stops, leaving an almost deafening silence in its wake. Charles watches with fascination as the shower head floats up and seems to re-attach itself to the piping of it's own volition. Another beat and the water starts again, slipping out of the shower head in normal fashion once more. Charles' relief is so profound his knees feel nearly weak enough to collapse to the floor. He steadies himself against the counter and lets out a long breath.

"Erik, _thank you_. You have no idea. Thank you so much. You've probably saved me thousands of dollars in damages I can ill afford right now. You are a -" Charles stops short. Erik is staring rather pointedly at him. What the bloody hell is he staring at? Does he have something on his face?

"What?"

Erik's eyes flicker down and Charles follows his gaze.

Bollocks.

The universe has decided it is not quite done torturing one Charles Xavier just yet.

His, well, bollocks are on full display. He is naked. Very very naked. As if there are even degrees of nakedness. No, there is naked and not naked, and Charles is most definitely naked. In front of a man he has been trying to figure out how to woo ever since he helped him bring his boxes up when Erik moved in one month prior.

Fuck.

Damn it, there goes his vocabulary again.

He's flushed and frozen in place, pinned by Erik's gaze. Erik who has not said a damned thing and is still staring. Charles' own gaze, perhaps inevitably, flicks to the region where Erik's bollocks are located and no. No no no. That is entirely not fair, not even in the slightest. Erik is wearing sweat pants, which are now soaked through, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. Erik's cock is framed by the sodden material and the size. Jesus. No man has any right to be _that_ size when they have been thoroughly doused with frigid water. This, of course, immediately leads Charles' imagination to wonder what on earth the man would look like if he were hot and hard, because there is no way it would be anything short of impressive.

Charles' knees are weak again and it has nothing to do with relief.

That's not the only part of his body that's reacting and given his current naked status, there is no way that Erik is not going to notice. Charles is swinging wildly between profound mortification and arousal, and Erik has still not said a damned bloody thing. Charles rips his eyes away from the sizeable obscenity barely hidden by Erik's garments back up Erik's body. The white t-shirt Erik had paired with his grey sweatpants is clinging just as tightly to his torso as his pants are to his thighs and cock. The ridges of his hip bones and each line of abdomen are clearly visible. And, really, Erik may as well be naked too for all the coverage his clothes are affording him.

Fuck.

When Charles' eyes finally climb back up to Erik's face there is no relief. Droplets of water cling deliciously to the curve of his mouth, begging for Charles' tongue to lick them away. His hair is wet and curling on his forehead and Charles has to clamp down hard on the urge to push it back and then grip it hard, anchoring himself for the kiss he wants so badly in that moment he feels dizzy.

He sees that Erik's eyes have flicked down again, taking in Charles' slightly less sizeable obscenity and the silent stalemate can hold no longer.

"I am so sorry, Erik. This is completely inappropriate. Please forgive me. Let me go and get a - "

Erik's eyes snap back up to his.

"Shut up."

Erik is on top of him so quickly that Charles barely has time to take a breath before Erik claims his mouth. He backs Charles up against a wall hard enough for pinpoints of pain to blossom where various objects have dug unforgivingly into his skin (Picture frames? Towel racks? Charles cannot for the life of him remember what the hell is in his own bathroom). Something crashes to the ground and Charles does not spare it a single thought because Erik's tongue has plundered into his mouth so possessively that Charles is sure he would collapse if it wasn't for Erik's body holding him up.

Erik's body. God.

It's is all hard lines, hard muscle and sharp edges. He grips helplessly at the narrow waist that has drawn his attention more than once in the past weeks. Erik's own arms are braced against the wall on either side of Charles' face and he feels trapped, helpless and so aroused that he's briefly concerned this is going to be over before it truly gets a chance to start.

"Fuck," he moans into Erik's mouth.

Erik's body rocks into his, bringing Erik's drenched clothing into contact with Charles' bare skin. It makes him shiver in a decidedly less pleasurable way than he'd like, but does him the small service of scaling back his need just enough to ensure he isn't about to embarrass himself by coming before Erik even touches him. Charles projects the image of what he wants into Erik's mind, as Erik has not released his mouth for more than the merest moment to breathe.

Erik reels back immediately and hauls his wet t-shirt over his head, tossing it onto the floor and revealing the sort of chest Greek sculptors chiseled into eternity. Equally as quickly, he pushes his soaked sweats down to the ground (no underwear some flailing part of Charles' mind notes) and steps out of them, kicking them aside. He is now as gloriously naked as Charles and Charles can't help the direction his eyes take, looking down at Erik's cock. His mind produces one word and one word alone. The only word it's seemed capable of for most of the evening.

Fuck.

Charles' hands move to grip Erik, because he is overcome by the desperate need to know how Erik will feel in his hand, but Erik stops him. He grasps both of Charles' wrists and pins them above his head with both of his, rocking his body forward and this time, oh god, this time it is everything.

The rough drag of Erik's cock against his makes him shudder. The friction isn't close to enough, as much as it sends delicious frissons of pleasure up his spine. He thrusts his hips forward as Erik rocks into him again, seeking as much contact as he can manage. His wrists strain against Erik's grasp because he wants Erik to let go, to let him grab Erik's waist and press them even closer together. Erik denies him again and his cock throbs in response. Erik's mouth has moved from possessing his lips to nipping at the sensitive spot beneath Charles' ear.

"Please," he moans, the word drawn out and so hoarse Charles hardly recognizes his own voice.

"What do you want?" Erik's voice is low and rumbling against his ear.

A dozen or more scenarios tangle together in Charles' mind all at once. Greedily, he wants everything with this man and he wants it now. His mind settles on one image and he pushes it at Erik. The rhythm of their hips falters and Erik's hands finally release his wrists and come down and grip Charles' ass.

"What do you have?"

"The drawer."

The only drawer in the vanity slides open on its own and Erik takes a step back so that he can rummage frantically through it's contents. Even that small loss of contact makes Charles whimper and want to draw Erik back. Erik finds what he's looking for mercifully quickly and when his eyes meet Charles' again he says, "Turn around."

The words are clipped and rough. The command nearly does Charles in and he grips the base of his cock to slow things down because there is no way he is not seeing this through to the end.

"No." Erik bats Charles' hand away and grips Charles' cock himself. "Me. Only me." It leaves Charles helplessly wondering if it's possible to drown in lust.

Erik let's him go as Charles braces himself against the wall. He feels Erik's fingers gliding down the curve of his spine, raising gooseflesh in their wake. They stop just short of where Charles really wants them and he pounds a fist against the wall in frustration.

"Easy," Erik murmurs and though he can tell Erik is just as painfully aroused as he is, there is a tight, ordered control to his lust as there always is to Erik's thoughts and feelings. It makes Charles want to shatter it until Erik is utterly undone.

Charles hears the pop of a cap and the tear of a wrapper and neither have ever sounded so fucking erotic in his life. His back bows in anticipation and then it's there, Erik's finger is there, slipping inside him. Charles lets his head drop against his braced hands, takes a shuddering breath and arches back to take Erik's finger in deeper.

Erik's other hand grasps his hip. "God, Charles, you're..."

There it is, the first tremulous crack in the order of Erik's mind. A second finger joins the first, stretching him, scissoring, beginning to open him in earnest. Erik works him and works him, taking the time to ensure Charles will be ready. Too much time. Desperate and wanting to shake Erik apart, Charles pushes his need at Erik, urging him without words to hurry this along. A third finger.

"Now, Erik. God. Now!"

Erik snaps, his mind flying apart as the fingers disappear and Erik's cock presses up against his opening. It's better, every moment of it is better than all the feverish fantasies he's had this past month. Erik is pushing inside him with a choked moan. He's big, god he's big, and Charles relishes the burning mix of pain, pleasure and fullness. He bucks his hips back to take in the last couple inches.

Erik's voice is guttural, "Fuck. Charles."

They stay paused that way for a moment, their bodies flush, Erik's hands clenching reflexively on Charles' hips and leaving what will definitely be a pattern of bruises Charles will take pleasure in tracing with his finger tips for days to come. Erik begins to move and Charles hastens things along by meeting Erik thrust for thrust. The rhythm is fast and perfectly imperfect. He knows neither of them will last long and all but begs, "Touch me."

One of Erik's hands slides around to Charles' straining erection, their thrusts pushing him into the tightness of Erik's fist. Erik fucks him and he fucks Erik's rough hand. "Erik, oh god Erik, I can't- "

"Come."

His body is all too happy to obey and he cries out as everything fractures and splinters, his mind and Erik's battered by the strength of his orgasm. Erik's hips snap once, twice, and his orgasm follows Charles'. Their pleasure floods through them both and Charles is certain there are a few overwhelming moments where he isn't able to breathe. Erik's hand has continued to stroke and he has to push it away when his spent cock can't handle one more touch.

As the world slowly pieces itself back together, all he can hear is the sound of their ragged breaths. Charles is eminently grateful for the wall holding them up. Erik's face is resting in the crook of his neck and he feels him press lazy kisses there.

"Jesus." Erik's voice is barely audible and Charles is capable of little more than a sound meant to be complete agreement.

He feels Erik pull back and is both disappointed and grateful for the break in contact. He wasn't entirely sure how much longer he would have been able to support them both. Charles turns around, still leaning back against the wall, but facing Erik. Erik's mind is coalescing back into it's usual order and, though utterly exhausted, Charles is already wondering how soon it will be before he gets the opportunity to break it apart again.

There is a flush staining across Erik's cheeks that Charles senses has little to do with the rigour of their activities. Erik starts, "I was a bit... " He runs a hand through his already mussed hair. "A bit... possessive. I'm not usually so... well... " The picture he paints is so endearing Charles can't help but kiss away his minor embarrassment.

Charles laughs, "I think it's clear how very much I enjoyed it." Already, he feels a low heat returning, replaying Erik's commanding tone in his mind and wondering what it is about himself that might bring out such possessiveness in Erik.

His eyes sweep the bathroom for something to use to clean up, but everything is sodden and would be decidedly unpleasant on their heated skin. Charles tugs Erik's hand and says, "Come on," before leading him to the kitchen. He snatches two dishtowels from their place, hanging on the stove, and hands one to Erik. They clean up in relative silence, their breathing still evening out. He takes his and Erik's towels and adds them to the heaping mess in the bathroom before padding to his bedroom.

"Let me see if I can find you something to wear."

He rifles through his dresser in search of clothing that won't look completely ridiculous on Erik's taller frame. One drawer turns up nothing and he opens another, pushing aside this and that.

Erik's voice, however, interrupts his search, "I was wondering... "

Charles starts and glances back at him in askance. His hands still. One arm is above Erik's head, resting against the door frame. It elongates his lean body and throws his bicep into sharp relief, everything on display. Charles had had no time to appreciate the view in their frantically aroused haste and oh what a view. This man wasn't fair.

"... if there was anything else around here that needs... fixing."

Charles swallows and gently slides the top drawer closed without removing any of its contents. "Well... There is this one knob, in the kitchen, that needs tightening."

Erik is clearly trying to hold back a laugh and maintain his air of seriousness. Knob? Tightening? Really Charles?

"So we should see what we can do about that... knob." Erik's lips are trembling.

Charles is quite close to giggling himself. "Yes, it's a very important... knob. We wouldn't want it to ah- go neglected, would we?"

Erik shakes his head. "That would be terrible."

Charles moves back to Erik, who is still leaning sinfully into the door frame. "Shall I show you?"

Erik let's his hand drop and the predatory grin he gives Charles sends shivers of promise down his spine.

"Lead the way."

As they walk back toward the kitchen in search of this... knob, Charles finds himself wondering when, exactly, his life became a porno.

When Erik is on his knees taking care of his... knob, he decides he doesn't care. 

**Author's Note:**

> As this is my first venture into smut, comments would not go unappreciated! They are always welcome and cherished, no matter how long ago I posted this.
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](http://pinkoptics.tumblr.com) for more Cherik!


End file.
